


Don’t Know What You Have Until It’s Gone

by Dextolan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Don’t overthink the timeline, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Everyone Is Alive, Hurt Stiles, Kidnapped Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Non-Human Claudia Stilinski, Protective Derek Hale, Protective Sheriff Stilinski, Scott is a Bad Friend, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski missing, Stiles thinks his friends have abandoned him, Tortured Stiles, Worried Pack, but he will get better, worried Sheriff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-07 08:06:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17362199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dextolan/pseuds/Dextolan
Summary: Stiles goes missing a day before his birthday.No-one notices until they find the bloody baseball bat.





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Teen Wolf story.  
> I haven’t watched it for a while so the timeline won’t be accurate :/

No one noticed the day Stiles Stilinski went missing.

Not until they found the blood. The strands of hair stuck to the baseball bat. The threatening note.

It wasn’t until the Sheriff stormed into Derek’s place and pinned him to the wall that the pack realised they had a big problem. A Stiles shaped problem.

* * *

 “Lydia, hey, Lydia!”

Lydia sighed as she shut her locker and turned her back on the voice calling out to her. She saw Stiles in the corner of her eye pushing through the crowd of students, calling her name.

She rolled her eyes. Stiles certainly had a way of embarrassing himself and she wasn’t going to be dragged down by it.

“Lydia, wait up!”

Lydia didn’t stop even after he waved his arms awkwardly. Stiles let his arms fall and he pursed his lips together. “Guess not,” he muttered. He turned to his own locker and pulled it open. He grabbed his books for the next class just as Scott moved past him. Stiles caught sight of Scott; he whipped around and grabbed his best friend’s arm.

“Hey, Scott-“

“No time, Stiles,” Scott said with an apologetic look on his face as he continued to pull away.

“I was just wondering if-“

“I have to go, talk later,” Scott said in a weary tone. He pulled out of Stile’s grasp and hurried down the hall. He turned at the end of the hall and looked back at a crestfallen Stiles before he called out. “Text me, dude!”

Then he bolstered into the nearest classroom with a romantic smile on his face. Allison, Stiles reminded himself as he gaped on in shock, and with a little bit of hurt in himself eyes.

Looked like no-one had time for him.

“Mr. Stilinski, shouldn’t you be getting to class?”

Stiles ignored Mr. Harris’ grumble, because did that man ever have anything nice to say to Siles? He went back to his locker and stashed away the invites he’d been holding.

His dad was the one who suggested the bowling party, despite Stiles protesting that he was going to be seventeen, not ten and that he’d rather have a house party which the Sheriff had shot down easily. He’d given Stiles the invites (fifteen in total, half of which Stiles knew would go unused.)

Stiles shook his head at the invites. “No way,” he mumbled to himself as he shut the locker. He’d just tell his dad that he gave them out. He’d just text his friends.

He went to his class before another teacher could offer him a second warning.

He could barely keep still in his class and when the bell went he was up and out of his seat in seconds. He hustled down to his jeep and lent up against it in wait for Scott by his Jeep.

He kept a close eye for his other friends while he was at it.

Issac sauntered by eventually and Stiles sucked his teeth in thought as the werewolf stared down at his feet.

“Hey, Issac?”

Issac glanced Stiles way and cocked an eyebrow. Stiles kept his face steady.

“What do you want?”

“Wow. And I thought Derek was sour-“

“I’m walking away, Stiles.”

“Alright, Alright,” Stiles said quickly, his hands diving awkwardly into his pockets. “What are you doing tomorrow? And when I say you, I also mean Erica and Boyd.”

“Uh...why do you care?”

“Well excuse me for being a caring friend,” Stiles said sarcastically and Issac snorted. “My father always told me to be nice to the furrier children.”

”Stiles-“

“Sorry! I’ll get to the point, Okay. I was... look, I’m goin’ to the bowling alley. I was just gonna ask you guys if you fancied coming. Like a pack meet, or something.”

Issac looked at him skeptically.

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles murmured. No-one seemed to be remembering his imminent birthday.

Issac sighed and moved his back upon his shoulder. “I’ll ask the others. Who’s going?”

“Well.” Stiles opened his mouth eagerly but realised he’d asked no-one else. “I’m gonna ask Scott when he comes out, which should be any minute now. And maybe Lydia, and-“

“Derek?”

Stiles frowned at Issac’s smug smile and he just shrugged. “And Derek.”

“You know Scott’s already gone right?”

“What?”

“Yea, Allison’s Dad offered him a lift to their place.”

“Oh... oh, right.” Stiles rubbed the back of his head realising he’d been stood around waiting for no reason like a complete idiot.

“Anyway. I can talk to Derek and the others; see what he thinks.”

“I’m really not selling it am I?” asked Stiles and Issac shook his head. “Just tell me you don’t wanna go. I don’t care, really, it was just a... a stupid idea, anyway.”

Stiles turned to his jeep.

“I can ask!” Issac called as Stiles got into the driver's seat.

“Forget it. Sourwolf will probably be out killing baby rabbits or something.”

Issac rolled his eyes and watched as Stiles pulled out of the parking lot. He knew he wouldn’t be hanging out with Stiles the next day. Everyone had better things to do, no offence to Stiles.

* * *

 When Stiles got home he text Scott.

_Stiles- Whatcha doing tomorrow?_

He left his phone on the side and stared at the calendar on the wall as he waited for a reply.

The next square on the calendar was circled and had ‘birthday’ written inside. He smiled sadly. Not only was he having to go to school on his birthday, but it was looking like he was going to be spending another with just his best friend and a couple of video games. It was better than nothing.

His phone chimed and he reached out for it.

His heart sank a little when he read the text.

_Scott- Hey, bro. @ Ali’s right now, not a good time. I’m taking Allison to see that new movie tomorrow. Speak in a bit, Yea._

“You’re kidding,” Stile breathed out.

He started typing out an angry reply but stopped himself. He quickly backspaced and retyped, seeing if he could push his luck.

_Stiles- Ok. Is that movie an open invitation?_

He smirked a little but the rapid text he got back only irritated him more.

_Scott- Dude. No. It’s a date, please don’t creep on us. I’ll see you @ school tomorrow. I gotta go._

Stiles gritted his teeth.

_Stiles- Kidding. I’m not Peter._

He closed their messages before he could type something he’d regret.

He searched Lydia’s contact and sent her a quick text.

_Stiles- Hey, Lyds, what are you doing tomorrow?_

He grinned when his message instantly went on read.

_Lydia- pretty busy._

Stiles rolled his eyes with a fond smile.

_Stiles- well, it’s kind of a big day for me too._

Stiles watched as his message was read but there was no reply, even after 2 minutes. He picked up his phone impatiently and wrote another message.

_Stiles- I was just wondering if you were free after school?_

The message was read and Stiles was about to grumble about girls and their phones when Lydia’s number started to call him. He picked it up after a moment's hesitation.

“Hey, Lyd-“

“Back off, Stilinski.”

Stiles’ eyes widened at the sound of Jackson’s voice.

“I was just-“

“Just what? Stalking my girlfriend?”

“You’re the creep monitoring her phone calls,” Stiles shot back before he could stop himself. There was a growl on the other end.

“You stay the fuck away from her or I swear to god, they’ll be mopping you off of the locker room floor.”

The call ended abruptly and Stiles dropped his phone onto his desk. Why was Jackson so threatened by him? It wasn’t like he was deeply in love with Lydia anymore. They were just friends; besides Stiles had Derek.

There was only one person left and he already knew their answer. He picked his phone up slowly and scrolled through his contacts.

 _Red- Hey,_ _sourwolf. Please tell me you’re not busy punching kittens and that you’ll come see me tomorrow._

He held his breath for the longest time as the message was read.

_Sourwolf- no kitten punching, though I’d make an exception with you. I’m training the pack tomorrow night._

_Red- You’re always training! I’m sure you’re muscles won’t deflate if you take a day off._

_Sourwolf- and tell my pack what? That I’m going to go watch terrible movies with a hormonal teenage boy?_

_Red- that you’re going to spend time with your awesome boyfriend, who you totally don’t deserve._

Stiles chuckled to himself as he watched the three dots shake under Derek’s name.

_Sourwolf- I’ll do that as soon as you tell your dad._

_Red- haha. My dad wouldn’t be convinced._

_Sourwolf- neither would the pack. Not tomorrow, Stiles. Saturday maybe, Okay?_

Stiles grunted unhappily.

_Red- okay._

He finally shut his phone off and flung it at his bed.

What a birthday this was going to be.

* * *

His dad text that he would be late but that he’d try and Stiles before he went to school in the morning. He also said that if things changed his birthday card was in the hall table draw and that he’d have his present after school.

Stiles made himself some noodles and finished his homework as he contemplated how pissed he’d be with his friends the next day when they realised they’d forgotten his birthday.  
Even Derek!

Stiles was just slurping up the last of his noodles when he heard a floorboard creak just above his head. He froze, the last noodles falling from his mouth as he looked up at the ceiling.

He turned his head slightly to the side and listened carefully.  
There it was again. Then another, a long groan of wood. It sounded like it was in his father’s room.

Stiles carefully got up off the couch and slunk into the hall, listening out for any sounds.

When he got close to the stairs he darted for the hall table and fumbled in the draw for the thick flashlight, with its hefty handle. He gripped it tightly, poised to attack as he climbed the first step. He cringed at the creak that followed.

“Hello?” he called as he got to the third step. The house was silent apart from the young Stilinski’s heavy breathing. He took a deep breath and continued up the staircase.

“Derek, if this is some kind of joke, I swear to god...”

He reached the top and glanced down the hallway.

Everything looked as he’d left it that morning. Stiles raised the flashlight and walked to his father’s room. He pushed open the door and swung the flashlight back and forth.

He looked around wearily, checking his dad’s bathroom which still smelled of his aftershave.

He also checked the hallway and then his bathroom but he saw no-one. He stepped into his own room but it too was empty. He dropped the flashlight on his bed and ran his hand down his face with a sigh.

“Paranoid much,” he muttered to himself.

He went to his desk slowly, mourning the stay noodles which were too far away for Stiles to be bothered to eat. He turned on his computer and watched the screen turn blue when his eyes brushed past something on his desk. He scowled at the tattered note and lifted it up from his clutter of work. In scrawled writing ‘Happy Birthday’ was plastered to the front.

Stiles didn’t recognise the writing as Dereks... or, in fact, anyone he knew.

He turned the paper, thumbing over the crumpled paper and found more writing on the back.

He was so distracted with the note that he didn’t hear the groan of a floorboard close by. Stiles tried to decipher what the writing said.

‘Next year it’ll be a memorial.’

“What the hell,” Stiles mumbled to himself, his hands shaking as he read again to be sure.

He noticed too late the creak right behind him. He turned suddenly to see his own baseball bat swinging around to meet him. He heard the loud crack that sounded from the bat colliding with his skull. The crack was accompanied by a sudden blindness that knocked the breath from Stiles as his vision turned to an interchangeable black and red that sucked him away from reality.

He heard and felt himself falling back into the desk and sliding down it. But then everything turned numb except his pounding head. It was all he remembered.

* * *

 

He looked down at the teenager sprawled on the floor, blood dripping down from his head where the skin had broken in two jagged rivets.

He dropped the bat and went over to the bed, pushing pillows around to make it appear as if someone was sleeping there. When he turned back to the kid the thick blood was slipping past his cheek and staining the carpet.

He grabbed the boy under his arms and heaved him into his arms bridal style.  
He returned to the already open window and carefully deposited the kid on the small stretch of roof outside before climbing out himself and shutting the window again.

No-one saw the man carrying Stiles Stilinski to the car with blacked out windows.

Nor did they see the car vanish up the road.

Not one person spared Stiles Stilinski a single thought as he bled in the back of the trunk.


	2. Where's Stiles?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack and John starts to realise that Stiles isn't where they left him...

John got back late. He threw away the burger wrapper and shuffled other rubbish over it so the wrapper was hidden from view: he didn't want Stiles finding out and buying him salad again.

He climbed wearily up the stairs and headed for his room but before he did he pushed open Stiles' door.

"Stiles?"

He squinted through the dark and under the moon's light he saw the ruffled bed covers and the shape under the sheets.

He pulled the door shut again and went to bed.

His sleep was interrupted at five in the morning when his phone buzzed, needing him at the station. He changed urgently, leaving his son's room undisturbed. He didn't want Stiles to wake up so early on his birthday. As he pulled out his keys for his squad car he grabbed Stiles' card from the draw and left it on the hall table.

"Happy Birthday, kiddo," he muttered, glancing back up at the staircase with a smile.

He left soon after, never for a second realising his son wasn't home.

* * *

Issac made it to his second class just as the teacher was starting the register.

"Prompt, as usual, Issac," she grumbled. Issac just shrugged sheepishly and started to pull out his books to appear more studious and make up for his late entrance. The teacher went back to her computer and started calling out names.

"Issac."

"Here," Issac said quickly as he pulled the lid off his pen with his teeth. He wrote the date on his work and listened to the register.

"Lydia."

"Yes."

Issac glanced over his shoulder and saw Lydia with a nail file tucked between two fingers as she filed another. "Your attention please, Miss. Martin."

Lydia sighed and made a show of dropping her file.

The teacher continued through the list, ticking off what she thought was a full class.

"Stiles."

There was no sarcastic reply. The teacher glanced up and over at Stiles' desk.

Issac who hadn't even given Stiles one look turned to his right to see the chair empty. He scowled and cast a look at Lydia who looked just as bewildered.

"Stiles Stilinski? Anyone know where Stiles is?" the teacher asked. The class glanced around but no reply was offered.

"Issac? Have you seen Stiles?"

"N-no, Ms. Kennedy."

She frowned at her screen when she saw Stiles hadn't been marked in at all. It wasn't like him.

"Alright. Um... Kelly."

"Here."

Issac turned to Lydia and mouthed, "where is he?"

Lydia just shrugged, her gaze lingering on Stiles' seat before she picked up her file again.

* * *

John glanced up at the knock on his door.

"Come in."

A young officer walked in, tucking her hair behind her ear and flashing John a smile. "Sir, Beacon Hill's High School is on line five. They want to speak to you about-"

"I know what it'll be about," John interjected with a sigh. "Thanks, Judy."

She nodded and left as quickly as she entered. John rolled his eyes and picked up the phone.

He held the receiver up to his ear and pursed his lips.

"What's my son done this time?" John asked, drumming his fingers on his desk. When he got his hands on Stiles, birthday or no birthday...

" _Oh, Mr. Stilinski... um-"_

"Look, I know my son, just tell me straight."

There was a pause on the other end as the female voice collected herself.

" _Stiles hasn't technically_ done _anything, sir_ ," came the hesitant reply. That caused John's eyebrow to quirk as he sat up.

"Oh. Then what's happened?"

" _Well... nothing. Mr. Stilinski, Stiles hasn't come in today."_

John leaned over his desk and put a hand to his forehead. "What? I-I'm not sure wh-"

" _He hasn't been registered into any classes. And there was no call or indication that he was taking the day off."_

"No, no, it's... he should be at school," John replied, his head in his hand.

There was a long silence before the school receptionist started to speak again. " _Should I ask-"_

"No, I'll deal with this, thank you. It's his birthday," John said and then he paused and grit his teeth. "Yea, it's his birthday so he's probably thought that he can take the day off."

John nearly growled at the realisation. This was  _his_ son. He was always getting into trouble.

" _Oh_."

"Yes, Oh. Thank you for letting me know. He'll be in tomorrow. And if I get my hands on him any earlier he'll be in later today," John added. "Thanks again, you have a good day."

" _Okay, I-"_

John dropped the phone back into its place and scrubbed his calloused palms into his eyes.

"For god's sake, Stiles," he grumbled. "Give me a break."

* * *

By the time it was lunch, Issac was extremely confused. No Stiles in class and Scott only had Allison at his side in the lunch hall; his sidekick still nowhere to be seen.

Issac got food before sitting down with Scott and Allison, and Boyd who threw down a big tray of food next to Issac.

"Hey, Scott, did you have a class with Stiles today?" Issac asked. Scott looked up from the sandwich he'd been staring at.

"First period... have you seen him? He wasn't there."

"That's what I was going to ask you," Issac said slowly. Scott's look of worry deepened.

"I'll text him."

"Is Stilinski skipping?" Erica, who had been lingering behind Boyd, asked, she took a seat much to Allison's displeasure and bit into her apple. "What a naughty boy," she snickered through a mouth full of apple.

Scott was busy frantically typing on his phone while Allison glared at Erica.

"Stiles doesn't skip," Allison said in a sharp voice. Erica rolled her eyes and continued to tear into her apple.

"He's not replying. He usually replies like... like that," Scott muttered as he set his phone down by his sandwich.

"Who cares?" Boyd said in a low voice. Scott growled under his breath. "He's probably just sick."

"He would tell me."

"You guys talking about Stiles?"

The teens looked over at Lydia who was stood at the end of the table, holding her tray between her manicured nails.

"Yea."

"Well this should be interesting," she added, taking a seat next to Allison.

"Where's your asshole of a boyfriend?" Boyd hissed and Lydia shot him a look that said so many things at once, mostly 'say that again, I dare you.'

"He's hitting the gym. Anyway, here's my theory about where Stiles has gone-"

"Have you seen him?" Scott asked suddenly.

Lydia gave him the same look she gave Boyd. "If I had then this wouldn't be an issue. So, you know it's his birthday, right? Well-"

"Wait, What?" Scott spluttered, his face draining of colour and a cold sense of dread building in his stomach.

The whole table, in fact, looked guilty as hell.

"It's his birthday?" Allison murmured.

"Look at the date. Of course it is."

"That's why he wanted to go out tonight," mumbled Issac, his hand reaching up to run through his hair.

"Shit, if I'd of known it was his birthday I wouldn't have said no," Boyd said.

"Scott... he wanted you to hang out with him... a-and I wanted to go to that stupid movie tonight."

Scott stared at Allison's face which was filled with shame and he groaned. He'd really fucked up this time.

"So we have a few options here," Lydia interrupted in a matter of fact tone. "1. Stiles has gone awol to celebrate his birthday. 2. He's genuinely sick. 3. He's angry at all of us and couldn't bring himself to come in or 4. He's gone to his mother's grave."

"Why would you think he's gone to see his mom?" Issac asked.

Lydia shrugged as she pulled off the lid of her yogurt. "He told me he did that sometimes, on his birthday. He and the sheriff would go." Scott looked down at his hands guiltily. He knew that... but then again he thought he knew when his best friend's birthday was.

Just then Scott's phone started to vibrate on the table. He snatched it up with a hopeful expression which soon fell.

"That Stiles?" Issac asked but Scott ignored him to press the phone to his ear.

"Sheriff?" Scott answered quietly. The pack glanced around at each other.

" _Hey, Scott, sorry to be bothering you, I know you have a lot of work to do..."_

Scott looked down at his open backpack and the unfinished homework inside.

" _But have you seen Stiles? I got a call from the school, said that he wasn't in and, well, you're his partner in crime."_

"I-I haven't seen him today, Sir."

There was a sigh on the Sheriff's end of the phone.

" _Are you in school today, Scott?"_

Scott frowned and his pause was taken as hesitation by the sheriff.

" _Scott_?" he said warningly.

"No, Sir, I'm at school. Stiles could've... he could've gone to his mom's-"

" _Look, Scott, I'm not going to play games with the two of you. Tell Stiles to answer my calls and both of you get back to school or I'll forget about the bowling all together"_

"But, I-"

The Sheriff's gruff voice cut out and Scott was left spluttering on his words of explanation.

"What was that all about?" Allison asked, curling an arm around Scott's for comfort.

"Stiles' Dad. He was asking where Stiles is."

"Well, shit," Boyd muttered. "The kid's really gone awol."

Lydia brushed her hair off her shoulder, half listening to the conversation, half texting. "He'll be at his mom's grave," she said simply. "Trust me."

* * *

The final class of the day was with Coach who seemed to be in his best mood which was snarky and irritated by every person that crossed his path.

Scott sat down and looked around at the empty seat that Stiles normally took up. He turned back to his desk, the corners of his lips falling sadly.

"Everyone in? Come on, Greenberg, get your ass in your seat now."

Scott sighed, Yep, the coach was as spritely as ever.

"Alright, last class, let's try not to screw it up and then maybe we can all leave early." Coach rubbed his hands together and leaned on his desk. He looked around his class at the bored teenage faces with a grin until he saw an empty chair. "Where's your friend, McCall? Stilinski, the sarcastic kid?"

Scott looked up slowly. "Um... I don't know, Coach."

"Of course you don't know," Coach said with an exasperated sigh before he rounded on Allison. "You seen him, Argent?"

"He hasn't been in all day, coach," Allison explained in a small voice.

"Well, we have a skipper." The coach reached back into a draw on his desk and pulled out several sheets of paper. He walked up to McCall and deposited the wad on his desk. "Give these to...uh-"

"Stiles."

The coach snorted. "Right, ' _Stiles'._ Tell him if he wants to skip my class again he can expect worse."

* * *

The sheriff was angry. Stiles's absence was getting beyond a joke. He was tempted to call Melissa to confirm his suspicions that their delinquent boys were skipping school together. He looked down at his messages to Stiles and sighed.

He got up and headed for one of the officers working quietly in the station.

"Judy?"

The young officer turned her head and smiled at John.

"Could you do me a favour?"

"Sure, Sir, what can I do?"

John put his phone down and pointed to his son's number. "I need you to track this number."

Judy stared at him, her eyebrows furrowed. She'd seen the contact name.

"Isn't that your son?"

"Yep. He seems to think he can skip school."

Judy continued to look at John but soon realised that was all the answer she was going to get. She nodded slowly and glanced back down at the number before typing it into the system and opening up the tracking tool.

John watched her type and triangulate until an address popped up in a small black text box.

"He's at-"

"I know where that is," John muttered, grabbing his phone again and checking he had his keys. "That's my house."

* * *

"Lydia?"

Lydia scowled at the gravestone. Scott looked across at her skeptically.

"I thought... he should be here," Lydia muttered.

Allison stepped forward and placed a hand on Lydia's back.

"He probably just went home. It's not that warm today," said Allison comfortingly.

They both looked down at the nearly dead flowers on Mrs. Stilinski's grave.

"I don't think he's been here at all..."

* * *

"Stiles?"

John looked around the hall before scaling the stairs, muttering to himself nervously as he did. He went straight to Stiles' room and frowned. He looked on at the bed where there seemed to be someone sleeping still. The sheets didn't move and so the Sheriff stepped into the room and flicked the light on.

"Son?"

He marched toward the bed and pressed his hand into the covers. His hand sunk down to the mattress and his eyebrows rugged down further over his eyes as he pulled the sheets back.

"What..." he hissed as he fumbled through the mess of clothes and pillows. An awful realisation hit him as he let the pillows fall from his hand. He stared down at nothing in particular for a moment his mind whirring with possibilities.

Where was his son?

"Stiles?" he called, throwing a glance back at the door. He waited, his breaths gathering speed as he listened. He grabbed his phone and called his son again.

It started to ring, a quiet buzzing filling the silence. The sheriff raised his eyes toward the desk where Stiles' phone sat, twitching with vibrations.

John dropped his phone from his ear, his mouth slightly agape, and slowly made his way around the bed. As he shuffled around the corner his foot connected with something that clanged against the wooden floorboard. He dropped his gaze. Stiles' metal, very much neglected baseball bat lay half concealed under the bed.

John reached down and lifted the baseball bat, chucking to himself as he remembered when Stiles had begged for it. He twisted it in his grasp a smile still on his face. The smile suddenly vanished and John stumbled back, dropping the bat as he went.

"No..." he whispered as he tried to stay upright on Stiles' overflowing bookcase with his eyes glued to the metallic bat.

John swallowed thickly and shook his head. He managed to find his feet and he reached out for the bat again and lifted it up to the light. He swallowed hard again as his eyes found the blood on the shiny metal surface along with some stray hairs that looked worryingly similar to the colour of his own... of Stiles'.

"Oh, God, what have you done this time?" he mumbled, setting the bat back down on the floor and stepping over it. He looked back at the desk which appeared messier than normal. He narrowed his eyes and got down on his knees to examine a dark patch on the carpet.

"No, no, no," he grunted when he found the dried blood stains beside the desk.

He staggered to his feet and whipped his radio from off his belt, closing his eyes to shut out the blood that was almost certainly his son's.

"I need a unit to my h... to Ashby Drive- just get to my place now!" he yelled into the radio as he stared at the blood.

"We have a squad car nearby, Sheriff. It's on its way," came a crackled reply.

"And Crimes scenes. I-I need crimes scenes here," the sheriff added, his voice dropping low.

A second voice broke through the radio. "Sir? Was there a break in?"

The sheriff ignored the voice and cleared his throat. "I also need an amber alert out on my son. Stiles Stilinski."

* * *

Derek marched across the loft irritably.

"What is wrong with you? You haven't stood still since we got here," Erica sneered and her words fell in on ears as Derek checked his phone again and continued to pace. She sent Issac a look and he raised his hands timidly.

Boyd glanced up from his phone and rolled his eyes, nudging Issac.

"Go see what's up," he muttered. Issac looked at him as if he was mad.

"Me? Why me?"

"He's been like that since you told him about Stiles." Boyd flashed his eyes and Issac growled in frustration before getting up.

"Derek?" He stepped closer to Derek as the older wolf paced.

"What's up-" he started, placing a hand on Derek's shoulder which was ripped off as soon as it touched him.

Issac was shoved back harshly into the wall.

"What the hell!" Erica stood up suddenly. Issac got back to his feet quickly with a badly concealed wince.

Boyd put a hand out to stop Erica as he glared at Derek who had stopped pacing.

"Somethings happened..." Derek muttered, his hands skirting the lining of his pocket before pulling out his phone.

"No shit," snapped Erica but Derek didn't retort in his usual way, he just stared down at his phone.

"I can feel it."

"Feel what?" Issac asked as he flexed out his shoulder.

Derek looked up. "Stiles."

"What about him?"

"He hasn't text me back."

Boyd scowled and exchanged a look with Erica. "Why would he text you back?"

Issac stretched himself out on the couch stiffly but maintained a smirk. He raised an eyebrow in Derek's direction. "Because they're seeing each other."

Derek finally snapped out of his daze and shot Issac a dark look.

"Really?" Erica snickered as she quirked an eyebrow to which Derek sent another glower.

"Well that's new," Boyd said.

"Has no-one noticed? Really?"

"Issac," Derek growled.

"I can smell you all over Stiles."

"No way! This is gold," Erica said.

Derek was about to yell at them when there was a loud bang on the door.

Derek shook himself off and opened the door only to have Sheriff Stilinski's hands on his collar, shoving him back against the nearest wall. Derek was so taken aback that he didn't fight it, even with the Sheriff's livid face inches from his own.

"Where's my son!?"

Derek stared back at the Sheriff his eyes suddenly turning sad.

"You haven't seen him either?" he whispered as the Sheriff gripped him harder. The Sheriff's face fell slightly but he shoved Derek again.

"What?! You were meant to be with him!" The Sheriff slammed him harder again. "It's his birthday! He was meant to see you! All of you!" He shot the Erica, Boyd, and a no longer smirking Issac a glare.

"I should've said yes to seeing him tonight," Issac mumbled to himself, his eyes glued to a surprisingly submissive Derek Hale.

"I...I... Sheriff, I haven't seen him. I've been texting him all day," Derek said, his hands fumbling with his phone to hand it to the sheriff.

John dropped him and took a step back.

"I can show you, Sir," Derek added, not moving from the wall as he opened his phone.

John sighed gruffly, running a hand through his hair as he did. "I know," he said quietly, "I read them on Stiles' phone."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away.

Derek didn't move, he clutched his phone tighter and felt panic bubble inside him.

"What's happened?"

"So now you care?" John's hostility returned momentarily until he turned and saw the fear written across the young Hale's face.

"I found... his bat; i-it had blood on it."

Derek sank back into the wall, his breaths getting heavier.

"There was also blood on the floor a-and a note. A death threat."

"He's not-"

"No... I don't know."

"Dead?" Issac asked and the sheriff suddenly started to shake, his hands pitching forward and resting, clench-fisted on the tabletop to steady himself.

Boyd smacked Issac on the side of the head.

"There was a-a lot o-of blood," John said in a tight voice that cracked uncharacteristically.

"Shit," Derek mumbled as he tried to keep his own emotions under wraps.

* * *

"Happy birthday to you..."

The voice echoed on the walls.

"Happy birthday to you..."

It was clearly not a soft voice and it strained to sing. Rough hands brushed through the boy's blood cracked hair.

"Happy birthday, dear, Stiles," it said slowly, a dirty finger pressing into the deep gash on the boy's head. The boy flinched in his sleep as his finger grew sticky with fresh blood.

"Happy birthday..."

The boy whimpered, his legs jerking unconsciously at the intrusion. The hand left the boy's wound and traced his throat, wrapping tentatively around the pale stretch of skin.

"To... you."

The hand clenched tightly around the neck and Stiles' eyes suddenly snapped open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has everyone heard that Criminal Minds is ending?  
> :(


	3. Pain Is A Great Amplifier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is officially missing, or at least everyone seems to be aware of his disappearance. There’s a search party out for the young man, and everyone’s miserable.  
> Stiles, on the other hand, meets his kidnapper and his intentions.

“Stiles? Stiiiles?”

Stiles was sat up in terror. He couldn’t see. There were hands in his hair and an uncomfortable stickiness along the crown of his head and he couldn’t see.

“W-what’s...” he swallowed thickly to try and ease the croak in his throat. The strong hands in his hair were pulling him back down.

“Shhh. Easy now, boy, easy,” the voice which must belong to the hands said calmly, the rough fingers pulling him gently into a warm lap.

Stiles shivered when his head fell back onto a solid thigh and he licked his lips, twice, but they seemed to absorb the saliva, leaving them chapped.

“Please... don’t,” Stiles whispered. Everything hurt too much to try and fight, he couldn’t even use his sarcasm; his throat was powder-dry.

“It’s alright, Stiles. I’ve got you.” The hands were back in Stiles’ hair and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Now he was more conscious he realised that he wasn’t blind; there was some sort of thick black blindfold over his eyes, so tight that the bridge of his nose was throbbing. His hands were tied together at his front and, with a jolt of his leg, he knew that his feet had the same treatment. Thankfully, he was still fully clothed.

“There’s nothing to worry about.” The voice continued to soothe Stiles’ shaking body as the teen tried to wet his throat.

“Here,” the voice said and there was a shuffling. Stiles flinched at the noise and tried to turn away but a hand held him steady against the disturbingly warm lap. Stiles lay there with his chest rising and falling fast and a dry rasp rattling from his lips.

“Plea-ese l-let me go,” Stiles begged.

“Shhh. Here.”

Something cold met Stiles’ lips which were pried open around it. Stiles thrashed as best he could, choking outcries of terror. There was a rush of something wet and cold down his neck and Stiles realised it was water. The man let him take a quick, uneasy breath before putting the bottle back to his lips. Stiles took three big swigs before the bottle was taken away.

“That’s enough. Don’t wanna make you sick,” the voice muttered and Stiles heard a bottle cap being screwed back on. His throat felt so much better and he swallowed easily before replying.

“A-and hitting me with a-a fucking baseball bat won’t?”

There was a pause and Stiles tried to keep on a tough face. His head hurt badly and so did his arms in their strained position.

A sigh cut through the silence and Stiles winced when it made him jump. The hands were in his hair but this time they tugged harshly.

“I’ll let that go because it’s your birthday, after all,” the voice said. “But in the future, you won’t get away with your smart mouth.”

Stiles pressed his lips together and blew out a shaky breath through his nose.

There was a chuckling and, suddenly, the blindfold was ripped from his eyes.

* * *

 

“I’m not going to school, mom.”

Scott sat at the kitchen table tapping his foot feverishly.

Melissa set her coffee mug down and sighed. There had been a search party for Stiles that night. She had to pull Scott home at 2 am after the Sheriff instructed them to go to bed and get some rest.

“I know, honey. But it’s only one day. Your attendance is-“

“I don’t care, mom!”

Melissa closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them Scott was looking at her with an apologetic look.

“Sorry... I didn’t...I-“

“I know, Scott. He’s your best friend; I know how worried you are. I promise you that I’m just as worried.” Melissa’s voice dropped off and she stared down into her mug, the coffee was barely touched. “I just keep thinking that I’ll see him... at work... that they’ll bring him in,” she mumbled sadly. Scott watched her as she snapped back to reality and he lowered his own gaze to the table.

“And if your attendance wasn’t in the red zone you know I’d let you take the day off and help search but you need to keep your grades up. Stiles would agree.”

“Yea... he’s always on at me about it... but... but he wouldn’t agree if he’s in trouble.”

Melissa rubbed her neck and put an arm around her son.

“I’m getting off work early. I’ll call to see if I can get you out of last period and then we’ll go look together, Okay?”

Scott faced his mother and they exchanged a look so full of pain and worry that he had to nod to occupy himself with something. Melissa smiled.

“We’ll find him, sweetheart. I know we will.”

* * *

 News seemed to spread fast. The school halls were filled with a buzz of whispers and gossip when Issac arrived with Erica and Boyd. They walked solidly to their lockers, not talking; looking guilty as hell. Issac caught sight of Scott just down the hall. The werewolf was staring at one of the lockers, so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the stares he received from those around him.

“He looks just as torn up as Derek,” Erica mumbled as she shut her locker.

* * *

 

They got to their first class with Coach, Scott arriving a few minutes after everyone else and sitting down with his eyes down on the desk.

Coach didn’t speak for several moments. He was looking at Scott a little anxiously. Finally, he addressed the class.

“Before we start class,” he said, clearing his throat as he did. “I’d like to make everyone aware that a student is currently missing.”

There were urgent whispers in the class and several wide-eyed teens who had missed the early morning gossip. Coach motioned to Stiles’ empty seat. He didn’t look his normal hard-assed self, he seemed to have a thin mask of his usual attitude but beneath it, he seemed... upset? Worried, perhaps.

“Stiles Stillinski was last seen Wednesday night before he was attacked. As you probably all know, he is still missing. If any of you have any information on the kid’s whereabouts then you must go to the principal. The staff are currently in close contact with the sheriff’s department.”

Coach glanced at the members of the pack in the room.

“We’ll make a start now. Uh... if anyone starts screwing around... just... just don’t.”

The coach handed sheets to the students in the front row to pass back before he leaned next to Scott.

“McCall,” he muttered. Scott looked up slowly. “I’m sorry for yesterday. I didn’t know-“

“No one did,” Scott mumbled, his head falling back down on his desk.

“Yea, well... look, kid, if ya need to leave at any point don’t ask. I’ll understand.”

Scott didn’t reply and when Coach started speaking to the class he realised he hadn’t been expecting an answer.

* * *

 

“Stiles!?” The sheriff staggered through the wood and tripped over a branch, falling to his knees with a defeated growl. Derek was on him in a second, pulling him back up and stabilising him.

“You alright, Sir?”

“Fine, Fine,” John muttered, pushing Derek away and glancing back ahead of him. “How far have we come?”

Derek glanced back at the rest of the search party and the distance they’d covered in the morning light.

“About ten miles this morning, Sir. Last night we couldn’t have done more than eight. It was too dark,” Derek said and the sheriff nodded and started to walk again.

“He might not be here, Si-“

“The neighbours’ camera showed someone going in through the window. There was no car, Derek. With the ‘ _creatures_ ’ you get Stiles mixed up with, whoever has taken him has something to do with you so they’ll be close.”

Derek hurried after the sheriff his brow set low. “What the hells that supposed to mean? You think this is my fault?” he snapped, forgetting his gentility. John stopped and turned to look at Derek. “Sir,” Derek added gruffly.

“As a matter of fact, I do. He has had so much trouble since you came along-“

“He was trouble before. Scott told me.”

“And you believed him?!”

“Oh, come on, Sheriff, you’re trying to tell me Stiles wasn’t a trouble maker?”

John shoved Derek but the wolf didn’t stumble and John stormed away and flung his fist into a nearby tree.

“Stop saying ‘was’!” he yelled, his face red and screwed up as he got face to face with Derek again. He panted harshly while Derek just stared on.

“I-“

“He’s not dead,” John said, quieter now. His eyes fell down to his burning hand, purple around the knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” Derek mumbled.

John stepped back and shook his head. “No... no, I apologise. I’m not thinking straight.” He shook out his hand. “Goddamnit.”

“Here,” Derek said, holding his hand out and taking the Sheriff’s clenched fist. John pulled away and frowned at the younger man. “It’ll help.”

Derek coaxed his palms forward and the Sheriff reluctantly let him take his hand. Derek closed his eyes and pulled the pain from John who gaped at the black lines running up Derek’s arm. After a minute the pain was gone and Derek let go.

They looked at each other.

“Thank you.”

Derek nodded and then motioned ahead of them. “We should keep going.”

“You’re right.” The sheriff turned to the small search party. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Melissa McCall sat in her car, her hands on the wheel and her eyes, glazed over a little, looked on at the high school.

Behind her glassy gaze, an image was playing out. One that had each breath escaping her heavily.

She was sat at the reception near the entrance of the hospital. She could see the computer in front of her, smell the chemical cleanliness she was so used to.

A trolley would smash through the doors. EMTs working frantically on the lifeless boy on the bed. She’d follow them only to watch them give up and step back from the body.

Then the whole image would restart and the teen would stumble in this time, with blood running down his head and from his mouth before he collapsed and no matter how many times she pressed his chest he wouldn’t breathe.

She watched, again and again, trying to change the outcome. The sheriff staggered in carrying the teen, pleading for someone to help him but no one could.

Every time the scene played out inside Melissa’s mind the boy died. Stiles died.

“Mom!”

Melissa suddenly jolted in the car seat. She looked down and around herself, her fingers flexing on the steering wheel. The images faded but the idea was still glued to her mind.

“Mom?”

She looked up and saw Scott, the thin car window separating them.

“Oh, Scott, I didn’t... you’re out early,” she mumbled. Scott looked down at his watch.

“No,” he said, dropping his arm and giving her a soft look. “Actually I’m five minutes later than you said.”

Melissa looked at him and blinked before her gaze fell to the digital clock on the car’s radio. “Oh. Yes. Sorry, honey. Come in and we’ll go find the Sheriff.”

Scott shuffled around to the other side, slinging his bag into the backseat.

“Are you Okay, mom?” Scott said as he pulled his belt around and plugged it in, missing twice.

Melissa nodded slowly and turned to face him. She smiled. “I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”

She started the car and smiled again at her son. “We have the whole weekend, we’re going to find him.”

* * *

 

He watched Stiles sleep. It was irritating him. He hated waiting, and watching the boy sleep wasn’t helping his plan one bit.

He stood up from the crate and kicked it to the side, allowing a wide berth between him and the kid.

“Do something,” he muttered, aiming a swift kick at the boy’s rib cage.

Stiles exhaled so suddenly that he could barely breathe and his eyes fluttered open. “Urrgh,” he groaned and tried to press his hands to his chest as he regained his breath. He looked up at the man through narrowed eyes. “W-what the hell?” he rasped. The man smiled. He had a sickly smile, a bit like Peter’s but Stiles liked Peter a whole lot better than this guy.

The man raised a boot and stomped it down on Stiles’ abdomen. Another whoosh of air left the teen and he grunted out curses.

“D-dude, Stop,” he whispered in a strained voice.

“Pain,” the man said in a purposeful voice. “Is a great anchor.”

He kicked Stiles as the boy turned on his side, catching his cheekbone.

“Ah! JESUS, MAN!”

Another kick and Stiles yelled again.

The man stood over him with a smirk and Stiles yelped as he shifted to look into his captor’s face. The man had an upturned nose, bumpy up the spine. His eyes were deep set and a light green, but also muddy, like grass that’s been stamped into the dirt. His skin was pale, a mole under his left eye and his mouth; his smile. Stiles sucked in a painful breath at the horror of that smile. His hair was longish, down to his ears, it reminded Stiles of one of Scott’s hair phases.

“Pain is the best amplifier,” the guy with the frightening smile said, laying his boot on Stiles’ chest, constricting his breathing more than he had already.

“W-what do... do y-you want?” Stiles managed to spit out, along with some bloody saliva that ran pitifully down his cheek.

The man smiled (Stiles shivered) and he leaned down close to the teen.

“I want you,” he said.

Stiles looked at him. “For what?!” he grunted.

“For my pack. I want you to turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. If you want to stay updated leave a bookmark. Your comments are also helpful and much appreciated.


	4. What Kind of Name is That?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles learns his captors name as well as what I said expected of him.  
> The pack don’t know where to go next but Peter seems to have a pretty good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who took the time to comment! I’ll try to reply to everyone; if I haven’t yet, I will soon.

“Turn?” Stiles spat out. “What the hell’s t-that supposed to mean? Y-you think I’m-I’m a werewolf!?” Stiles gave a snort and shook his head a little as his eyes wavered on the boot holding him down.

“Oh, Stiles... Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. What teenage naivety you have.” The man smirked.

“I-I’m not...” Stiles paused and frowned. “Wh-ho the Hell a-are you?”

“It seems I haven’t properly introduced myself.” The man pressed his foot firmer into Stiles and the teen gasped. “I’m Quentin.”

Stiles couldn’t hold back the snort which was hard to muster what with a boot upon his chest.

“Who calls their k-kid Quentin,” Stiles said with a smirk. “That name d-died out like a hu-hundred years ago.”

“With that quick tongue of yours, you won’t be likely to reach even a quarter of that age.” Stiles’ smug grin fell at the venomous look in Quentin’s eyes. The guy was still smiling. “Oh, but I do agree.” Quentin let out a sigh and looked down, smiling at Stiles’. “But more to the point, what mother calls her son Mieczyslaw?”

Quentin chuckled at the look of horror that crossed Stiles’ face.

“And to answer your first question. No, I don’t think you’re a werewolf. I know exactly what you are.”

He lifted his boot and Stiles sucked in a breath of relief. He turned onto his side to breath more evenly, his fingers straining to touch the cold floor through the many layers of duck tape. Quentin smirked before stomping his foot down on Stiles’ fingers, relishing in the dry crunch that followed.

“AHHH! Mother freaking-“ Stiles pressed his lips together and moaned. “Mmmmmmrrrm!”

Quentin watched him writhed for a moment before sighing.

“Ah, you’re stubborn. We’ll try again later. You should work on turning while I’m gone.” Quentin’s eyes flashed a velvety orange and Stiles could only whimper as he watched the man, if he really was one, walk away. Leaving him in the dark and in agony.

* * *

 “He’s not in the woods.”

“How can you be sure, Der-“

“He’s not in the woods!”

Derek clenched his fists and looked away from Scott.

Everyone was there. The whole pack. As well as the Sheriff, Melissa, and Deaton.

Derek turned his back on Scott who was sat on the edge of the couch and he glared at the coffee table instead.

The Sheriff’s house had been searched top to bottom and was currently in a chaotic state, likely due also to John’s own panic.

John stepped out of the shadows of the window, his face set in a grim line.

“Where’s my son, then?” he whispered darkly. Melissa put a hand on John’s shoulder to keep him calm.

“Is there anything we need to know before we go on? Anything that’s.... not normal...?” She asked carefully, her eyes meeting her son’s.

Deaton shook his head when none of the pack answered.

“If there was a threat I would know about it. Since there hasn’t been for months we’re either looking at someone who's been watching the pack for a while or a random attack.”

“It’s not random,” John muttered.

“No. I understand that, but if it is another pack their attack on Stiles could be random and that their real target is the Alpha. Stiles is a good way to get to Derek-“

“My Son is not... a...a pawn in your sick little games!” John spat and his fists shook at his sides while he glowered at Deaton who just held his tongue back.

“Well, what about you, Sheriff?” Issac piped up. He sank back into the couch a little when John whipped around and scowled.

“What about me?” he growled. Issac shrugged nervously.

“Is there anyone you know who would do this to Stiles? You’re the Sheriff; I bet you’ve pissed off...” Issac broke off when John’s scowl deepened.

“He’s right,” Deaton said.

The sheriff looked down at his hands. “I don’t... I can’t remember all the people I’ve put away...”

“We’ll split it,” Lydia said, hopping off the arm of the couch. “Half of us look into any connections with the Sheriff and the other half find any pack threats.”

Melissa took John’s hand gently and rubbed a finger over it. “You could get the officers at the station to look over your history. All the people you’ve put away.”

John closed his eyes and nodded slowly. “Alright. We can start there.”

Lydia pressed her hands together. “Great, we’ll go and-“

A high pitched jingle cut her off so suddenly that she jumped.

“Sorry, my phone,” Scott muttered, digging into his hoodie for the device.

“Can you get a less obnoxious ring tone?” Erica mumbled under her breath as Scott unlocked his phone. His brow sunk down over his eyes as he stared at the screen.

“I... I don’t know this number,” he muttered as he answered the call.

“Hello?”

The pack watched as Scott’s frown slowly disappeared and his face became a picture of worry.

“Stiles?”

John was at Scott’s side in a second, snatching the phone from him and putting it on speaker.

“Stiles! Son, are you there?”

There was a pause and the pack held their breath. Derek was staring at the phone, his teeth grinding down on each other.

“D-Dad?”

John breathed out in relief. “Stiles, are you alright? Where are you, Kiddo? Are you hurt?”

“H-h-he says....” there was a wet raspy breath. “H-he says-“

“Stiles?”

“Mmmrm... says s-sto-top look...lookin’ f-for me... t-t-that I-I bel-long t-to him now.” Stiles’ voice was ragged and it was clear he was holding back sobs.

Melissa put her hand to her mouth and looked away.

“Son, are you okay?”

Derek hurried over and looked down at the phone. “It’s Derek, Stiles, it’s me, do you know this guy? Does he want something from the pack?”

“H-he’s here...”

Derek and John exchanged a look of pure loathing for whoever Stiles was referring to.

“Let Stiles go, he’s only a kid,” John said.

Derek took a sharper approach. “Listen you son of a bitch, you can have me! I’m the alpha. Let Stiles go and you can have me.”

There was another pause filled only by Stiles’ harsh breathing and then a cry of pain echoed from the phone which caused Scott to bolt up out of his seat.

“Don’t! Don’t hurt him!” John yelled while Stiles whimpered.

“I-I d-don’t know where I-I am,” Stiles sobbed through the phone.

“We’ll find you, buddy, I promise. Just hang in there, Stiles, ya hear me.”

John’s fingers were white as he squeezed the phone for more information from his son.

There was a sharp breath on the other side before Stiles’ frantic stuttering was back. “H-his n-name is Qu-“

The phone flatlined.

John stared at it, his heart hammering in his chest.

“What’s his name, Stiles!?” Derek bellowed, grabbing the phone off the Sheriff. “Stiles!?”

“Shit,” Boyd muttered, getting up from his seat and pacing nervously.

John had to lay his hands on the back of the armchair to keep himself steady.

“He’s hurt,” he whispered. There were tears in his eyes but he didn’t try to wipe them away, his face just tightened and he shook.

“We don’t know how bad, it could be-“

“It’s bad! Did you not see his baseball bat?!” John sent Issac a sinister look and the beta cowered against Allison.

“We need to keep calm,” Deaton said, holding his hands out. “This won’t help us find Stiles.”

“And what will?”

“Well, not constantly arguing about it.”

“Maybe if someone came up with a better plan-“

“I did!”

“We just need to-“

A scraping sound of metal upon metal cut into the argument like a blunt knife. The wolves looked over in the direction of the back door, their ears straining.

“What was that?” Allison asked.

“Shhh,” said Lydia, her eyes on the backdoor where the handle was twitching.

“There’s someone outside,” Deaton whispered, his eyes darting to the Sheriff who pulled his gun out with shaky hands, a loose tear drying under his eye.

“Did you tell anyone else to come?” Deaton asked Derek, his claws were out as he shook his head.

John walked slowly to the back door where the quiet clicking was coming from with Derek on his heels. He put a hand on the key and Derek nodded at him to continue, his fangs extending past his bottom lip.

John turned the key and threw the door open, lifting his gun as a figure rose from the other side.

“Hands where I can see ‘em!” he yelled, his finger quaking on the trigger. The tall figure followed the order. Derek snarled at the scent of the figure in front of them and he flicked on the porch light.

His growling jumped up a pitch and he presented his fangs menacingly. John squinted at the figure who smirked back.

“Gentleman.”

“Peter,” Derek growled, reaching forward and sinking his claws into Peter’s arm. The older man just continued to grin.

“Nice to see you too, nephew. Sheriff.”

“What are you doing here, Hale?”

“Would you be so kind as to have this hormonal wolf unhand me?”

Peter motioned to the blood dripping down his wrist and then to Derek’s morphed out wolf face which made John swallow thickly.

“Derek,” he said warningly. Derek huffed but released his uncle and relaxed his features until they were nearly human again.

“Thank you,” Peter said as he flexed his wrist out. He looked back up and smiled.

“What the hell do you want?” Derek hissed.

Peter tutted. “Really, your mother didn’t raise you to be so rude to your elders.”

“Get in,” John snapped, pulling the older wolf off the porch and into the kitchen.

There were hushed whispers coming from the front room and Peter stepped closer with interest.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Derek said as Peter walked into the hallway.

“All in good time, Derek. Am I missing a pack meeting?”

They got to the front room where the pack was sat (and some stood) tensely.

“Oh... it’s you,” Melissa grumbled and Peter’s smile broadened.

“Tough crowd.”

“What’s he doing here?” Allison asked, slumping back on the sofa and into Scott’s side

“That’s just what I’d like to know,” said John, his arms folded across his chest as he watched Peter apprehensively.

“I’ve come to lend a hand.”

“How could you he-... wait... how do you know abou-“

“Word travels fast,” Peter explained with an air of boredom. “And what with Stiles being the Sheriff’s only child.”

“And how exactly are you going to help us find Stiles?” Erica asked. Peter looked her way and slowly walked toward her.

“Well, I have a theory.”

“What’s that?”

Peter turned then to the Sheriff. “The Sheriff hasn’t been entirely honest with us.”

John shifted uncomfortably under the pack’ gaze. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, John. Are you not going to tell them?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? Alright, I’ll tell them then. The reason Stiles was taken is that...” Peter paused for effect and his smile grew wider. “... well, he’s not human.”

Peter’s face became serious, although hints of a smile still remained. The room was silent as the information sunk in. Scott shook his head.

“No, no that’s not true.”

“Are you sure about that, McCall?”

“We’ve been best friend’s since... since forever; I would know.”

“Awfully quiet, John,” Peter said, ignoring Scott who was trying to think back in his mind to disprove Peter’s theory.

John was frowning to himself and he shook his head. “No. You’re wrong, Hale.”

“Am I?”

“I’m human,” John snapped.

Peter just shrugged. “Doesn’t mean Stiles is.”

“He is! We checked. Claudia wouldn’t have... no, we were safe. He’s human.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Well,” he said, with a long sigh. “Perhaps you’re right. But someone thinks Stiles isn’t human. And it is that someone who has your son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> Comment, bookmark, and Kudos to tell me what you thought ;)  
> Someone is on the right tracks in the comments but all will be revealed soon.


	5. Not in the Past Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles faces some suspicious flashbacks that have him questioning his whole life while John comes clean to the pack about his family.

 

“John...”

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

“There’s someone out there.”

“Just stay quiet, Claudia.”

“Take, Stiles. Take him and get home.”

“They’ll follow. I’m not leaving you.”

“Mommy?”

Stiles fisted his eyes before holding his stuffed fox closer to his chest.

Claudia looked back at him and brushed her fingers through his hair.

“Hey, sweetheart. We’re going back home now, Okay?”

Stiles blinked tiredly at his mother. They’d only been away from home for two days. Daddy had said they were going on holiday to a cabin and Stiles had been so excited. He’d never been on a holiday.

“Take Stiles to the car, Claud, I’ll hold him back and you start the car.”

Claudia turned from her trembling son and shook her head. “No. You’re both human, I will hold him off.”

“I won’t let him hurt you.”

“I’m more powerful. Get in the car and I’ll follow. I’ll wait for you at that motel 15 miles the way we came from. We’ll wait there until he’s gone and then we’ll go home,” Claudia said. John just stared at her for a moment and then glanced back at the three-year-old wrapped in his ragged orange blanket. He had started to cry.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Kiddo,” John whispered, reaching forward and lifting Stiles into his arms, wrapping an arm around him and pressing him to his chest.

“Daddy, I scawed,” whimpered Stiles as he nuzzled with his stuffed fox into his father’s neck.

“Take him. Go now,” Claudia said her head whipping to the front door where there was a loud bang.

“But-“

“Please, John, for me. For Stiles.”

The couple looked down at their son who was gripping his father tightly while he sniffled. John closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ head before he fumbled with his freshly packed duffle bag.

“Take my gun,” he said insistently, pulling the dark barrel out first and holding it out to his wife. Claudia smiled and leaned in to kiss him.

“I don’t need it,” she whispered, her smile revealing a set of neat, little fangs. “Now go,” she said.

John nodded and pulled their duffle bag and Stiles’ backpack over his shoulder.

“Please, come back to us, honey.”

“I will,” Claudia said. “I always do.”

John hurried to the backdoor and pushed it open just as the front door was thrust inwards. Stiles heard the loud crash and he wailed into his Father’s shoulder

“Daddy!” he cried, his grip growing impossibly tight.

“Shhh, shhh, you have to be quiet, buddy,” John said as he got to the car, glancing back at the cabin as he did. He caught sight of an unfamiliar car and he grumbled under his breath.

“Whewe’s mommy? I want mommy!” Stiles sobbed, great tears falling down his cheeks as his father forced the straps of the car seat around him.

“She’s coming, shhh, she’s-“

John paused at the sound of a shout from the house.

“WHERE IS HE!?”

“Get out!”

John recognised his wife’s voice and reached for his gun again. Stiles snuffled into his baby blanket that John had tucked tightly around him.

“You... you stupid- argh! CAN’T YOU SEE!”

“Leave! STAY AWAY FROM US!”

“Get your claws off me!”

John smirked, imagining his wife’s hands around that man’s throat. He reached down into his duffle bag and pulled out a penknife.

He leaned over and kissed Stiles’ forehead. “I’ll be right back, Stiles. Stay quiet.”

“Daddy...” Stiles whispered as he sniffed and rubbed his wet eyes. John smiled and shut the door. He jogged over to the unknown car and flicked out the sharpest knife and slashed it along the thick rubber. He smiled smugly when air blew from the gash and he slashed a second tire before sprinting back to their truck.

“HE’S HUMAN!”

“HE’S ONE OF US!”

John got into the car and started the engine.

As soon as he got onto the road he floored it. He looked back at Stiles who was biting his lip; still sniffling.

“Who dat, daddy?” he whispered in a small voice.

John looked back at the road and grimaced.

“No one, Kiddo.”

* * *

 

Stiles woke up to a throbbing in his side. That was definitely a broken rib, maybe two. He didn’t remember passing out. After Quentin had forced him to call Scott and he’d broken the one rule by trying to reveal the guy’s name, earning him a brutal punch to the face, Stiles didn’t recall much. Just pain.

He blinked through heavy eyelids, trying to clear his vision as he looked around. There was blood on the floor, a surprising amount and he saw Quentin sat watching him. Stiles sighed gruffly and turned onto his back, looking up at the lightbulb.

“H-how long ha-have I been here?” he whispered.

He could hear Quentin shifting where he sat. “It’s Saturday.”

“W-What!?”

“You’ve been passed out for most of that time.”

“My b-birthday was Thursday... I-I’ve been here f-fo-for like th-three days,” Stiles whispered, his face growing pale.

“Maybe if you did as you were instructed you’d-“

“I d-don’t know what y-you want!” Stiles cried, his voice so full of fear that he even surprised himself.

Quentin rolled his eyes and stood up.

“You know exactly what I want,” he muttered and he started to kick the defenseless teen. His anger controlled each nasty kick, renewed each time by the lack of progress Stiles was making.

“S-stop!”

“You know what I want! Come on, just focus on your inner animal.” Stiles curled up on himself and gasped in sharp, sporadic breaths. Quentin reached down and dragged Stiles back, pressing his boot into his skinny thigh.

“I c-ca-can’t!”

Stiles yelped when he was forced up to his feet, which twisted awkwardly with the tape holding them together.

“I see you’re still being obstinate. Just like your mother,” Quentin growled. He reached above him and pulled down a hook. Stiles watched helplessly as Quentin taped his wrists around the hook and then let him drop. He then grabbed the chain and yanked and Stiles whined when his arms were forced upward until his feet were just brushing the floor. It became a great effort to keep his balance.

“I guess we’ll have to move on.”

Stiles shut his eyes tightly before opening them to see Quentin fiddling with something on the table. He turned and Stiles reeled back.

“No, no, p-please no!”

“You can skip this part,” Quentin said, running his fingers over the knuckle dusters. “Just turn.” He grinned when Stiles trembled. He was trying to move away as Quentin drew closer.

“Are you going to turn?”

“I can’t!” Stiles sobbed, pulling his hands against the tape. His skin was rubbing painfully against his restraints. “Don’t do-o this.”

Quentin sighed but his smile remained as he drew his fist back. It all happened in slow motion. Stiles felt something crack as the metal rings slammed into his cheek.

A memory swirled in his mind and it suddenly burst through the pain.

They were in a sandpit. Him and Scott. His mother was reading on a bench nearby. They were getting too old to be playing in sandpits but neither boy cared. Scott was nearly eight so he insisted he got the bigger spade but Stiles promised he’d just steal it anyway.

“I’ll build the monster truck and you can build the house,” Stiles said. Scott pouted.

“Houses are boring.”

“Well... you can build a wolf or something.”

“I can’t build a wolf out of sand. I wanna build a monster truck.”

“Fine, but we have to do a competition,” insisted Stiles, holding his small spade out like a sword, challenging his best friend who just sat with his typical confused puppy expression. “Whoever’s is the biggest and the best wins.”

“Wins what?” Scott asked and Stiles shrugged.

“I dunno, dude. You just win. Come on.”

Claudia watched the boys play with a smile on her face. Today was a good day. The medicine was working; she was feeling good and Stiles was happy.

She watched them argue and then settle, frantically digging up sand.

It was just as Stiles finished his first sand wheels that Claudia caught a whiff of something. It was a rough smell, like Tabasco sauce or something musky.

She glanced around the park. She knew that scent. Her claws were extending as she looked over her shoulder.

Stiles smoothed out the sand over the tires when a gruff voice came from beside him. He and Scott looked up at a man with pale skin, dusted with moles and a charming smirk.

“Hello, boys,” he said.

Stiles glared at him and shook his head at Scott who had opened his mouth to reply.

“You know what your mommy says, Scott, don’t talk to strangers,” Stiles hissed before turning back to the man and scowling like he saw his dad do.

“Well aren’t you clever,” the man said, ruffling Stiles’ hair. Stiles pulled back with a disgruntled huff.

“I’ll scream,” Stiles said under his breath. The man chuckled.

“Stiles!”

Stiles glanced up to see his mother coming toward them. He swore he saw her eyes glowing for a second... but only a second before they melted into their typical warm brown.

“Alright, Stiles, you have fun now.”

The man stood up just as Claudia got to them. She shoved him roughly.

“Get out of here, Quentin,” she snapped. “And don’t you dare follow us.”

The man raised his hands as Stiles and his mother glared back at him.

“Okay.” His mouth curved into a smirk. “Father would be most displeased of you.”

“I don’t care about what you have to say. Go!”

* * *

 

Stiles gasped as the flashback melted away and his spotty vision of the dark concert room returned. His whole face hurt badly, he blinked and whimpered when the motion sent trickles of pain flooding through his eye socket. There was also something hot on his face, searing against his skin. He crossed his eyes to see and made out the violent red masking his previously pale complexity.

He looked up at Quentin and tried to swallow. The man’s knuckles were bloody and so was the knuckle duster which seemed to be dripping his blood onto the floor.

“You’re... you...”

“Speak up, boy.”

Stiles looked at him searchingly as the man smiled and swiped blood off the metal.

“You’re my uncle.”

Quentin chuckled. “Quite the clever young man, nephew.”

Stiles’ eyelids fluttered, his mind in total shock. His parents were the only child in their respective family’s... that’s what they’d told him.

“B-but...”

“Shhh, you, my stubborn nephew, need to focus on turning.” Quentin raised his fist but Stiles protested before it cracked another bone.

“W-Wait, Wait, wa-wait... are you... a-“

“A what?”

Stiles watched nervously as his long lost uncle lowered his hand and cocked his head mockingly. Stiles swallowed the bile forming in the back of his throat.

“A-a Wolf?”

Quentin smiled and walked over to Stiles. He grabbed the teen by the collar and hoisted him up higher which was actually a relief of the young man’s wrists. Through his sweaty strands of hair (reddened by blood) he looked back at the malicious smile Quentin held in his teeth.

Stiles watched with jittery shivers as Quentin’s teeth grew, all of which became dangerously sharp; his eyes transformed into a glorious orange, one found deep within a bonfire.

“Not a wolf, nephew.”

* * *

 

“What was she, Sheriff?!”

John only offered Deaton a brief glance before going back to his pacing.

Peter was lounging in one of the armchairs, he’d only had to give Issac a look and the boy was out of the plush chair in a blink. The elder werewolf smiled and examined his fingertips.

“I knew Claudia rather personally in school,” he mused, speaking out loud but more to himself. Deaton drew in a breath. He didn’t like not knowing.

“John.” Melissa’s voice put a pause to John’s pacing. He looked her way, his face twisted with all sorts of rising emotions. “You need to tell us what Peter was talking about. What was... was Claudia a werewolf too?”

John just stared at Melissa lost in thought as he looked into her eyes.

“Not a wolf,” he muttered.

“Definitely not,” Peter added, nodding, his face smug.

Deaton glared at Peter while Melissa continued to watch John imploringly.

“Stiles isn’t... Stiles isn’t one. She was so scared he would be.”

The pack was also watching John as he ran his fingers over his neck and down his shoulder. He frowned and shook his head.

“We couldn’t tell anyone.”

“You can now,” Melissa said. Lydia nodded her head, smiling sweetly at the distracted sheriff.

“This room is full of the supernatural, Sheriff. We know everything.”

“Well... almost,” Deaton muttered with just a touch of bitterness.

“You’re all wolves,” the sheriff said in a low voice. “What could you possibly know about foxes.”

Peter grinned and looked up at the ceiling, preventing a laugh from bubbling up.

“F-foxes?” Scott mumbled, exchanging a glance with Allison.

“Yes, Scott. Foxes. Heard of them?” Peter sneered. He turned back to John and sucked his teeth. “Claudia was a feisty little fox,” he said.

John glowered at him.

“What sort of fox? Kitsune?” Deaton asked. He was leaning on the couch, his brow creased thoughtfully.

“No... she was powerful, but she didn’t have nine tails or anything.”

John closed his eyes and lowered himself down onto the coffee table. “He found us.”

“Who?”

“Claudia’s brother... Quentin, I think.”

Lydia pursed her lips together and nudged Issac who gave her a look that said ‘what am I supposed to say.’ She sighed and said, “has he been following you?”

John nodded heavily. “Ever since he was kicked from Claudia’s old pack. He couldn’t have kits... I mean, children, so he wanted Claudia to continue the pack.”

Deaton, who was listening with intent, spoke up. “And, am I right in thinking he wasn’t too pleased when she married a human?”

“Yes. He threatened to kill me and any human offspring Claudia had with me. When she got pregnant with Stiles we moved away. He had found out before we left but he didn’t try to attack Claudia and cause miscarriage.... which he’d threatened to do. He said that he could smell a fox. When we came here Claudia went to some kind of pack meet with were-foxes she’d found and had it confirmed that Stiles was human.”

“What if he wasn’t... human, I mean?” Scott said quietly. John looked at him for a moment with tight lips.

“She didn’t want to risk her brother taking Stiles and using him in his pack for...” John inhaled and shook his head. “She would have aborted him if he was a fox.”

Melissa looked taken aback as did some of the teenagers but no one spoke.

“We were safe. Even after Stiles was born and he showed no signs of being a fox. Quentin found us a few times. We managed to get Stiles away from him, Christ, the kid doesn’t even think he has an uncle. I haven’t heard or seen Quentin since Stiles was seven.”

“Why didn’t you tell-“

“Besides we couldn’t risk it. Even after Claudia died. I never told Stiles or anyone. Do you know how hard that was when he started to explain werewolves to me and all these unexplainable events which I understood perfectly.”

Melissa stepped forward and took the sheriff’s hand softly in hers.

“If Claudia was a fox, and you’re a human, wouldn’t that make Stiles a half fox? So Peter’s right, he’s not human?” she asked.

Peter was quick to clear the confusion. “Not necessarily. Yes, he has Fox’s blood in him, however, if he is human, then John’s genes would be dominant. Besides, two wolves still have potential to make humans. One of my cousins were human and both her parents had been werewolves. Anomalies, Melissa. They occur more often than you think.”

Melissa’s eyebrows were stitched together but she didn’t question it further.

“So Stiles could’ve been a born fox?” Erica asked. She was bored of listening quietly.

“He still could be,” Peter said.

“No, he can’t,” John grumbled which only seemed to make Peter grin more.

“But... foxes...” Boyd said, his voice quiet and his expression airy.

Peter nodded slowly. “Yes. A fox. From what I hear they’re fun to catch and delicious while warm.”

John spun around and nearly snarled at Peter. “Do not say that,” he snapped.

“Sorry, Sheriff, a wolf can dream.”

John stood then and pointed to Lydia. Her eyes brightened at the sudden attention. “How much more help can you get?”

Lydia paused for a moment before a smug smile filled her face. “My boyfriend, Jackson, will help. He’s part of the pack.”

“Danny offered us help,” Scott put in with a hopeful sparkle in his eyes.

John nodded curtly and turned to Deaton. “The kids can keep searching the woods. We’ll go back to the station and search records of my brother-in-law.”

Peter remained seated while everyone started to move. He sighed when Scott eyed him suspiciously. “I hate foxes,” he muttered. He turned to Derek then who continued to wear a miserable expression. “If Stiles is bitten... or if, as I predict, he _is_ a fox, then I suggest you end whatever relationship you have with him. Foxes and wolves don’t get along, Derek.”

“It’s lucky I don’t listen to you,” Derek deadpanned. He and his uncle glared at each other before Derek turned and followed the Sheriff. Peter raised his eyebrows and smirked.

Oh well, he’d have some fun with _one_ fox anyway. He was looking forward to wolfing out and chasing down Quentin. He could hang his bushy tail up somewhere in his apartment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone supporting this story. Please leave comments on your thoughts and I will reply when I get the chance ;)


	6. I’ll Show You Exactly How To Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin reveals his Fox form to Stiles and gives him a little more incentive.  
> The sheriff gets nowhere but Derek catches a scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love being woken up by my flatmate at 3.30am when I have lectures at 9 today. It’s still too early to watch the Criminal Minds finale so I thought I’d crack out another chapter because it 4.45 and there’s little chance of going back to sleep now.

“A fox?”

Stiles stared down at the large fox. He had previously deemed foxes cute, indulging in the sparse ‘aw’ at certain kits when one of the girls showed him cute animal pictures. This one, however, made Stiles rethink their ‘cuteness.’ Quentin was bulky, long and tall, around the size of a Labrador. His muzzle was thick, one long streak of orange running up it. Both his eyes were shaded by jet black fur, his paws were black and tufty dark fur stuck up along his back. The rest of his coat was a mixture of orange and a sort of red brick colour, mixed together and blended into the black anomalies. Stiles has to admit his tail was rather magnificent. It was plump and the oranges, reds, and blacks were striking.

Stiles just stared at it while the fox showed off its yellowed teeth and scratched its claws on the ground.

Quentin turned back and Stiles threw his head in another direction when the naked man stood before him. Quentin chuckled and picked up his boxers.

“That, nephew of mine, is what you must work on.”

“D-dude, I’m not a f-fox,” Stiles said.

Quentin pulled on his trousers and walked up to Stiles, tilting his head to look at the boy. After he zipped up he grabbed the boy’s face in his fingers, his dirty claws threatening to sink into the bruised flesh. Stiles groaned, Quentin’s fingers smearing in the blood and catching on the open wound on his cheekbone.

Quentin released his face and Stiles let it hang down as he breathed slowly. “You know what you need?” Quentin asked. He turned back to his panting nephew. Stiles raised his head weakly and stared at his uncle.

“A hospital,” he said sarcastically, spitting out the blood soaking into his tongue.

Quentin chuckled and shook his head.

“No, no, you need some more incentive.”

Quentin grabbed Stiles around the hips and the teen grunted as he struggled against the grasp.

“Perhaps a broken pelvis would push you to turn.”

Stiles yanked on his restraints and shook his head desperately.

“N-no... please,” he whimpered.

Quentin grinned and released his hips.

Stiles let out a sigh of relief and he closed his eyes, sucking in his breaths faster than before. Quentin was still smiling and he raised his leg and just as Stiles reopened his eyes he struck the boy’s leg with more force than was humanly possible.

Stiles choked on a shout and it came out as a stunted gasp.

He looked down at his knee which was twisted in an awkward angle and he tried to keep his breath even. A cry split past his lips and he couldn’t hold back the tears.

“Argh... oh go-od,” he hissed.

Quentin stepped back and narrowed his eyes.

He watched the boy writhe and curse for several minutes until Stiles broke into sobs. God, it hurt. The only pain Stiles could compare it to was... that one time maybe, when he and Scott had sledged down the stairs on cardboard boxes. They’d squashed them down flat and took turns in zooming down the staircase until Stiles lost his grip of the cardboard and landed on the bottom step unprotected. He hadn’t been able to walk for days. Even that didn’t totally compare to the pure agony tearing up his thigh and manifesting beneath his most definitely broken kneecap.

* * *

 

The sheriff leaned over his desk as he stared down at the files before him.

It was Sunday. Sunday! He hadn’t seen his son since Wednesday morning. He shook his head angrily, trying not to think of what Stiles had been predisposed to in all that time. He could be dead. John felt his fists strain on the desk and he glared down at the files.

Peter sat boredly in a chair opposite while Melissa stood close by, biting down on one of her nails.

“Anything?” she asked after several moments.

The sheriff grumbled and looked up. “Not much. He goes from place to place. My best guess is he’s shacking up somewhere.”

“You know,” Peter said, examining his fingernails something that was really getting on John’s nerves. “Derek is rather an excellent sniffer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John grunted. He glared over at Peter who was smiling to himself. The sheriff was desperate to smack that smirk off his face.

“It means that if you have anything with that putrid Fox’s scent on my nephew might just be able to track him.”

The sheriff stood up straight, his eyes staring out at nothing as he thought hard. “They had a-a den,” John muttered. “Claudia’s pack used to go there... I think Quentin went too.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “That would be an old scent. They’re harder to track.”

The sheriff shook his head slowly. “No... I-it was like an anchor for them. Whenever Claudia turned into fox form she’d go there. It was like... a... an instinct.”

“Well, do you remember where it was?”

John pressed his palm into his forehead before he looked up to Melissa suddenly.

“Call Derek. Tell us to meet us at my place.” He threw Melissa his phone before turning to Peter. “Yes. I remember. You better be right about Derek.”

 

* * *

Stiles raised his head which was dripping wet from sweat, spittle, and tears and he glared at Quentin while he grunted. Even his eyebrows hurt.

“You’re so much weaker than I realised,” Quentin said with a tsk and Stiles’ teeth clamped down over each other as spit flared from his mouth.

“You broke my leg!” Stiles yelled.

“And you’re breaking the rules!”

Stiles looked down and stared at his leg. It was bent a strange way, all angular and not typical of a human leg. His teeth were stiffly glued together as he tried to ride through the agony.

“You’re like your mother. She never followed rules.” Quentin snorted and started to pace. “She ran off with a worthless human! My father never saw it the way I did. He never realised her act of betrayal. She could’ve been great but instead, she was a Goddamn whore, selling herself for-“

“D-don’t you dare say that,” Stiles growled. He spat again more in anger than to rid his mouth of the taste of blood.

“She was a stupid, narrow-minded bitch.”

“Stop it!”

“She abandoned our pack for what? You? Your father? You’re both pathetic!”

Stiles growled and he felt anger bubble through his core. It was like a switch was flicked and he suddenly came to life. “Shut! Up!”

* * *

 

Derek wandered around the ‘den.’ It was barren. Once well used but the build-up of natural debris suggested it was no longer in use.

“Anything?” John asked a little desperately. Derek ignored him and stopped to the ground. He raised the dirt to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“There’s something...” he paused and took another whiff. “Fresh here.”

John hurried forward eagerly but Peter put an arm out to stop him.

“I just need to find a more dense source...” Derek muttered and he got to his knees and shuffled further into the den. Peter, John, and Melissa watched earnestly as Derek sniffed every inch. He finally pulled out and stood up slowly, his face raised to the sky as he sniffed.

“I think I’ve got something,” he said. The scent was thick in the den but in the open, it was a more vague tang of something bitter.

John watched the younger man step in one direction and sniff the air.

“Are you sure?” Melissa asked. Derek didn’t turn, he continued to hold his nose up but he muttered a yes.

“Melissa find the kids and have Scott follow Derek’s scent or something.”

“But-“

John shook his head suddenly and put a hand on Melissa’s shoulder. “No. I know what you want to do but I don’t want you coming with us. We’ll let the supernatural deal with this; keep the girls away too.”

“You’re not supernatural.”

“He’s my son,” John answered simply and he glanced back to see Derek walking steadily ahead, his head still held high as he followed an invisible trail. “I’m going to bring him home.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	7. The Young Fox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gives Quentin what he wants, but it's not entirely what he asked for.  
> Can the Sheriff, Peter, and Derek get to Stiles in time before one fox strikes?

 

 

“We’re getting close,” muttered Derek, looking up from the ground. The scent was getting more potent. Peter raised his head and sniffed.

“Mmm, I can smell... something,” he said.

“Can’t track it though,” Derek added with a smirk as he found the scent and walked on.

Peter mumbled something and he scowled heavily. John followed Derek quickly, his hand on his holster.

“If you can track by scent why didn’t you just track Stiles that way when he first went missing?”

Derek glanced John’s way with a small frown on his brows. “Can’t track human scent,” he said.

John turned to Peter then. “Human, see.”

“An unpresented were-creature takes on the scent of a human, Sheriff.”

John glared at Peter.

“I got it.”

John and Peter paused their staring contest and looked Derek’s way. The younger man was pointing to an old trailer up ahead.

“That’s it,” John muttered but Derek shook his head. He skirted around the trees cautiously. The trailer came into view as did an old shower block hidden behind several thick trees. John followed Derek and they stared at the concrete shack for a moment. John looked over at the trailer, the door hung from two hinges; the top one had rusted to nothing. From what he could see the inside was a mess. The floor was falling in on itself under the weight of old magasines, clothes and, other rubbish. A hoarders dream.

“I can smell the fox,” Derek said. He stared at the shower block, his eyes glowing. “He’s in there.”

There was a sudden cry of pain and John whipped his gun from his holster. Derek felt his face shift, his fangs stretching past his lips.

Peter could smell the disgusting fox inside too now they were close and he felt drool fill his mouth.

Derek raised his head and howled, alerting the rest of the pack to their whereabouts.

He nodded at John and stormed toward the small hut.

* * *

Stiles cried out at the sudden anger surging through him, making him hot all over.

A strange feeling came over Stiles. He felt flush like a sickness was creeping under his skin; bubbling out through his cracks. It was like he was breaking apart. He cried out suddenly when white-hot pain trickled through him with the sickness and his vision started to shimmy and distort, and the colours he saw burned orange.

He could see Quentin watching him with delight as he writhed in agony.

He heard the shout of his name from a more familiar voice and Quentin’s head flicked to the left, his eyes glowing orange as Stiles felt his own twitch and tear up.

“Stiles!”

It was as if he were sinking. He felt his arms slip through the duck tape and he collapsed onto his injured leg with a yelp. It was _actually_ a yelp, it sounded like some kind of wounded animal.

Everything stopped suddenly and Stiles just lay there. Stunned for a moment. He raised his head slowly. His jaw ached and as for his injuries, a fire had started anew within them.

“I knew it.”

Stiles blinked his eyes and looked over at Quentin. When did he get so big? 

Stiles then saw his dad. He was stood in the doorway his gun trembling in his fingers and great relief washed over the teen.

‘Dad,’ he started to call out but then he frowned. He couldn’t seem to produce the words. Derek walked out from behind his father and Stiles made a sudden barking sound that confused him so badly that he reeled back. That was when he saw one of his paws. Then he felt his tail and the twitch of his ears.

Oh my god... no...

* * *

 

John slammed his foot into the wooden door and it practically crumbled under his efforts. He caught a glimpse of his son. He looked awful and John nearly lost his hold on his gun. But then his son was gone. 

Derek shouldered past John, a growl splitting from his lips. 

“I knew it!”

John turned to Quentin. He hadn’t seen the man in many years. He hadn’t much changed. It disturbed him how much he still looked like Claudia.

”What have you done!?” John snapped, his clasp on his gun growing stronger. There was a whimper and John looked back to where his son had been. There was a bundle of filthy clothes and from it emerged a small fox. Its ears were laid back on its head and tail tucked between its hind legs as it shook badly.

Quentin turned to them and grinned. “I didn’t do anything. He’s a fox, John! You couldn’t hide it from me!”

John shook his head and looked back at the fox. “No,” he whispered. The fox tried to stand but it yelped sharply and fell back onto the clothes bundle.

”He’s going to be in my pack and-“

”NO!”

”He’s a fox. I’ll be his alpha.” Quentin was smiling with sick desire as he watched the injured kit lick at his wounds. Derek snarled then and Stiles’ ears pricked up a little. He raised his eyes at the transforming wolf and yipped. Quentin, on the other hand, staggered back, a gasp wrenching from his throat.

”That’s a wolf, John!” he cried.

”Hold back, Derek,” John muttered as a wolfed out Derek took a sinister step forward. 

Quentin’s fangs grew in his mouth and he swallowed thickly. “You brought a Wolf?” he hissed.

”Not one,” John said. Quentin looked around nervously and then a deep growl filled the room. A great wolf stalked around John, it’s lips curled back into a smirk if wolves could do that. Peter sniffed and he looked over at Stiles, who’s ears bent down and he lowered his head. Peter stared for a moment as Quentin panted harshly. Peter then turned to Quentin and his pink tongue hung from his mouth.

John jumped back when the grey wolf lunged forward. Quentin transformed into his fox and darted to the right as Peter pounced. Quentin sent a quick glance behind him before he scampered over to Stiles and lifted the kit out of the clothes by the scruff of his neck and with the little fox hanging from his sharp fangs he ran under John’s legs and into the woods. Peter chased after him, followed by Derek, who picked up Stiles and his clothes in his mouth. The two wolves growled and barked as they’d sped after Quentin, knocking John over as they shoved through the door.

The fox was quick, but not faster than a wolf. Derek and Peter quickly caught up with the frantic fox, Peter nearly overtaking him.

Quentin pushed his legs but he wasn’t going to win this race, especially carrying a cub. Sacrifices had to be made. 

Quentin got close enough and he snapped his teeth at the fox’s leg. His tongue shot out of his mouth when black and orange fur stuck to it but the action had seemed enough to panic Quentin who decided what he must do.

Quentin dropped the small fox off to the side and picked up the pace. Peter kept on the frosty orange tail but Derek saw the ball of fur tumble down a small embankment and he turned sharply after it.

He slid down and came to a stop in front of the small fox kit, he was curled up on himself, his eyes closed. He dropped the clothes and his tongue hung out of his mouth as he panted nervously.

Derek stood for a moment watching the bundle and he continued to pant. He walked forward slowly, his head low as he nudged the Fox with his nose. It didn’t move and Derek whined and pawed the Fox desperately.

* * *

 

Scott sprinted to where John stood. The rest of the pack were following behind. Alison, Melissa, and, Lydia had taken the car following a location shared on Scott’s phone. John was staring off into the woods, his gun in his hand.

”Did you find him?” Scott asked, hands on his knees as he panted.

John nodded slowly. “They went that way,” he muttered.

Scott was about to run the way John pointed but he paused, looking into the sheriff’s eyes. “Are you alright, Sheriff?” he asked. 

John’s lip quivered as if he was trying to say something but it just wouldn’t come out. Finally, he shook his head and looked back at Scott. 

“Let’s go,” he said, leading the way at a demanding pace.

* * *

 

Stiles didn’t know when he’d left consciousness was, he only remembered his eyelids fluttering open and staring back into a pair of red eyes. He whimpered but the eyes quickly changed to a deep brown and the black snout that belonged to them started nuzzling against his happily. Stiles huffed as the wolf’s tongue brushed his fur back.

Well, that’s not gross at all.

Slowly, as he grew more in tune with his surroundings, his pain became inherent. How did _everything_ hurt? It was as if a fire had been lit under him and he was sleeping in the embers. He thought supernatural creatures healed or had he missed out on a trick.

”Stiles?”

The little fox twisted in agony but managed to peek out at the wolf beside him. He startled when the wolf wasn’t there, but instead a very naked Derek.

”Can you turn, Stiles?”

Stiles blinked at Derek for a moment as if he was mad. A cold shiver ran down his back when he recalled Quentin demanding he turned. 

Derek sighed and pulled on his boxers as Stiles stared at him. Where had he gotten his clothes from? Stiles continued to frown at the small bundle of clothes beside them.

Derek looked back at him and smiled softly. “I’m not sure how feral you are, but if you can hear me, Stiles, you need to try and turn. I have your clothes here.”

Feral? Stiles chuffed and turned his face away. He didn’t know what insulted foxes but feral seemed to do it.

”Stiles? I know you’re in there.”

Yea, he’s in here alright, Stiles thought bitterly, and he heard you call him feral.

”It’s really easy, Stiles. Just... just focus really hard and-“

”Fe-feral?”

Derek whipped his head around and his face lit up with a smile. “Stiles,” he breathed, and suddenly there were tears springing in his eyes. He reached forward and wrapped a gentle arm around Stiles.

Stiles was stunned for a moment but soon everything started to come back to him, the pain, the torture, the turning, and in his exhaustion he went slack and sobbed in Derek’s arms.

”We found you... oh god, we found you!”

He looked the teen up and down and felt his breath catch somewhere in his windpipe. Stiles looked awful. There were bruises everywhere, his leg was definitely not meant to be at that angle. As for his face... blood had crusted over most of the wounds, the large gash over his forehead was still bleeding and Stiles’ hair was cracked with the thick blood. 

“Here,” Derek whispered, pulling his own shirt from the small pile and carefully pulling it over Stiles’ head.

”Ow... D-Derek,” Stiles whined when Derek knocked his broken fingers. He sucked in a breath that seemed to get stuck in his throat and he moaned. Oh yeah, he forgot about those broken ribs.

Derek helped him into his boxer shorts again and then gently laid Stiles down. The pain was growing more and more intense and his chest was starting to get tighter. Stiles looked at Derek with panicked eyes as the werewolf took his good hand and pressed his lips to the knuckles. He started to leech the pain then, gritting his teeth as he looked down into Stiles’ bloody face.

”Y-you came for-or me,” Stiles whispered sleepily. The pain was gone but now he felt an unpleasant stickiness in the back of his throat. Breathing was growing increasingly more difficult.

”Stiles.” Derek looked down at him with wet eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles frowned, causing his face to twinge with pain.

He felt Derek start to shake with sobs beside him and all he could do was gaze at him dazedly. There was a metallic taste on his tongue and his chest wasn’t expanding as much as it should.

”I’m so sorry... I should’ve gotten here sooner... I-I... god, Stiles, just hold on, please.”

A banshee screamed in the distance just as Stiles decided how nice sleep would be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm kinda making my own rules with the were foxes. I really don't feel like following what Kira's fox was on the show and I also don't want to take on some other stories interpretation so I'll just make my own ;)  
> So in this universe, Foxes don't have the ability to heal like wolves. They have better hearing than wolves and are swifter but obviously, they're smaller and their sense of smell is around the same. They can also take pain and heal, however, they heal the same as humans.  
> oh, and not all kanimas don't earn their tails from their successes or from their age, some are just born to be that powerful, hence Stiles. They also don't have superhuman healing.  
> This way Stiles doesn't just magically heal and he still has some human aspects that he always wanted to retain.  
> Hope that's okay. thanks for reading. Please comment.


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